


And it Opened Up My Eyes

by beaubete



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Flirting, M/M, squint-or-you'll-miss-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his earpiece is damaged, Bond has to take direction from Q in some unconventional ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And it Opened Up My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> For [dysfunctionalunit](http://dysfunctionalunit.tumblr.com), from the prompt [here](http://dysfunctionalunit.tumblr.com/post/55065749639/so-i-passed-a-car-today-and-the-license-plate-was). Not exactly the same, and definitely may be continued, but enough to make me giggle.

This part of Las Vegas was rife with electricity, signs in neon and blinking LED and ads for buffets here, exotic entertainments there, and everywhere, everywhere the “cheapest slots in town”.  It was also rife with shady, underground arms deals, which was why Bond was there to begin with.  It was the perfect storm of a mission for him: beautiful women in revealing clothes, free-flowing alcohol of staggering quality and quantity, enough gambling to sate even the wildest of thrill seekers, and plenty of corrupt men for Bond to shoot.  He was considering taking out a timeshare for holidays.

Or at least he had been—he’d made rather a big splash earlier when he’d come into the hotel lobby and left with the hotel owner’s wife on his arm.  It could be argued that it wasn’t his fault she was bored, and it could be argued that it wasn’t his fault that American women found his accent like catnip—a thought that made him snigger to himself as he dashed down the sidewalk past tourists and their ever-present cameras, a hundred jokes about “attracting all the pussies” on the tip of his tongue, but there was no one there to appreciate his humor and it would be wasted muttered to himself like a nutter—though it could be argued that it was his fault he’d not noticed that she was always there when the deals went down.  He’d misjudged rather spectacularly the pushes forward of feminism in Modern America and the fact that there could be trophy _husbands_ as well as trophy wives.  And that the wives of such trophy husbands might have their—beautifully be-ringed and manicured—fingers in a few pies their husbands might not know about.

He’d only barely managed to roll out of bed with his pants on before staggering at the electronic whine caused by his crushed earwig as she pulverized it under a fine stiletto.  Even without the damned thing he could hear Q cackling, though.  Q always did look down on the idea of Bond using his physicality to resolve missions; he’d playfully call Bond a honey trap, even issued condoms as essential kit once.  Cheeky bastard.

Of course, there may have been some merit to Q’s distaste, he was forced to confess as he dodged and wove down the busy pavement.  Up ahead, a flashing LED scrolled in red letters: LOBSTER DINNER JUST $5.99! NEW YORK STRIP JUST $3.99! TURN LEFT NOW YOU TIT.

Well.  That was odd.  He passed the sign and kept running.

I MEAN IT YOU STUBBORN PRIG read the sign over the chemist’s door.  PRESCRIPTIONS 90 DAYS FOR $4.

Bond glanced around for the cameras.  There had to be a few trained on him—Vegas was full of people who wanted nothing more than to voyeuristically watch any move made—but he couldn’t see them.  He did see the theatre ad when it advertised the evening show of GET A MOVE ON MAN. TURN LEFT NOW.  He turned left.

The crowds began to thin and Bond heaved a sigh of relief at the fact that there was significantly less Hawai’ian print around to shove past.  Even so, the building quality began to visibly deteriorate as he entered the area away from the tourists.  There was a chance he was moving directly into her hands.  Up ahead, a pig holding a fork and a slab of its own ribs said STUMPY’S BBQ. IF YOU KEPT IT IN YOUR PANTS.  The church beside it continued THIS WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED YOU KNOW. SUNDAY SERVICE THREE TIMES!  Bond frowned in consternation.

“Thank you for the judgment, Father!” he called at the church.  It balefully reminded him that the Lord loved all sinners.

IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT YOU’RE A SLAG said the bicycle repair shop, and quite frankly, Bond was tiring of Las Vegas making personal comments.  YOU CAN’T HELP BEING PRETTY said the furniture shop.  SOFA KING LOW PRICES.

“You know you want me,” Bond said, grinning.

CHICKEN FRIED RICE. NOT WITHOUT A COCKTAIL OF ANTIVIRALS FIRST confessed the Chinese restaurant on the corner.

“They’ll work better after,” Bond corrected.

YOU CHARMER YOU said the petrol station far away on the left.  The customers below it looked confused, staring as he dashed by them.  When he slowed to a walk with a pained grunt, the sign said PICK UP THE PACE.

“You pick up the bloody pace.  This isn’t a marathon,” Bond muttered rebelliously.

WUSS called the cheap motel window ahead.  GET GOING BOND.

“No,” Bond replied shortly, slowing further until he rolled to a stop at a nearby bus stop.  “Am I still being followed?”

YES.  FREE HBO! the hotel replied.

“How many?”

CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST said the hotel. FREE FOR ALL SIS AGENTS.

“Q?”

JUST KIDDING said the hotel, and Bond really didn’t approve of the hotel’s sense of humor.

“Stop fucking around, Q,” Bond said.

SORRY said the bus that pulled up to the stop where he was leaning. 

“You can’t use the stop if you’re not waiting for the bus, asshole!” shouted the driver when Bond waved him on.  HE’S GOT YOUR NUMBER agreed the bus’s destination.

“Fuck off, Q,” Bond snapped.

“What’d you say, pal?” demanded the driver.

“Nothing.”

Reluctantly, the driver pulled away.  The fried chicken restaurant on the other side of the road said NO BUT SERIOUSLY BOND. GET GOING.

“Fine,” Bond sighed, hauling his aching bones up again.  He was too fucking old to be running around like this.  “Where am I going?”

LOW PRICE CAR RENTALS said the lot not too far ahead.  STOP HERE.

“Q, is that you?”

NO IT IS THE QUEEN said the car lot sign.

“Sarky arsehole,” Bond said, but he couldn’t keep the fondness from his voice.

YOU KNOW YOU LOVE IT.  Bond grinned and shook his head.  NOW GET IN THE CAR.

The reservation was for a bloody Mini.


End file.
